


Finnigan the Flinchy and his Unbelievable Story

by xAestheticallyXReadingx



Series: Lemony Snippets [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Golden Age of Piracy, Historical Inaccuracy, I can't do anything about that so, I mean what do you expect these are pirates, Medical Inaccuracies, Pirates, So this is G-rated because I don't care about romance, Torture, but like it's sort of funny, but while I was doing the bare minimum of studyin I found out pirates were pretty gay, no beta we die like men, please don't punch walls and fall off of two story buildings or whatever, t rating is for cursing and a fight scene, this still isn't about romance but make of what you will about the character interactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 03:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xAestheticallyXReadingx/pseuds/xAestheticallyXReadingx
Summary: Sure, some people are given cool names like 'Blackbeard', or created fear from their otherwise simple names like 'Mary Read'.Whatever, people are just lucky like that.Unfortunately, Finnigan the Flinchy was not. Thomas Thistle (that lucky bastard) hears why.---Happy Birthday, Jackie!





	Finnigan the Flinchy and his Unbelievable Story

**Author's Note:**

> (to Jackie; if you, the reader, are not Jackie, please go to the end for notes) Here's Your Late Birthday Gift, Jackie! This is the latest to be editted, so this is the final version. Hope you like! :)
> 
> This was fun to write, since Finnigan the Flinchy was originally a joke character (in fact, I spelled his name wrong and never changed it) that got way out of hand with a bunch more other characters I never told you about (Who the heck is Thomas Thistle? What's Lady Aquatina's deal? Why is Captain Hollow such a jerk?)
> 
> I might write more about these dorks, but might not. We'll see..

Thomas Thistle doesn’t try hide his foul curse when the shank in his hand breaks, creating an alarming _crack_ to ring through the prison cell. Pulling the now broken object away from the wall, he growls, seeing only meager scratches etched onto the wall. “ _Fuck_ …!” Thomas hisses, barely hiding his disdain in his voice. Out of anger, Thomas throws the useless stick onto the ground. No fireworks or dramatic explosion conjure out of nowhere, Thomas’ imagination not helping him feel any better. Without thinking, he starts to punch the wall even though the pain spreading through his knuckles quickly blooms.

 

 _Dammit! Why wouldn’t this work??!?_ Thomas snarls in his head, as his hands start to feel the burn and lower from the barely-moved wall. _I’ll never get out of this fucking hellhole now!_ Like a boy with a tantrum, he flops down forcefully onto a piss poor excuse of a bed. Prison, pirate-ship, Thomas knows what a good bed is. He could confidently say the shithole of this cell sucked, to the prison guards all the way to the horrid “beds”.

 

On the one hand,  you could say it’s Thomas’ fault for leaving his crew for  “a few minutes”, and then getting into a bar fight the minute he has low time in some English town. On the other hand, Thomas doesn’t like to dwell what is and isn’t his fault, _especially_ if some drunkard was sending him dirty looks in the first place.

 

Thomas can’t help but spread a half-smirk of the memory, even if it did lead him to a dark cell. _That drunk dog deserved it…_ He rubs his knuckles, both in pain from earlier and in memory of the several satisfying punch to the drunkard’s face.

 

As much as Thomas likes thinking about the fights he’s been in ( _a whole lot)_ , his mind itches for a way out before the authorities find out of his alliance with his crew. Or worse, the crew finds out of his confinement.

 

He jumps to his feet, already thinking of a plan to get out. A hand holds his chin in concentration, a habit Thomas picked up eventually, alongside his lip-chewing. Fortunately for him, the prison cells Thomas is held in has a window, albeit with bars, but it gives him a good view of the port, and a way out. He stares at it, few feet taller than him and of the opposite direction of the cell door.

 

 A few hours ago, Thomas found the weakest bars out of the bunch and somehow was able to pull them out. As a former man of town society, he would be offended of the poor treatment the cells have, but as a pirate-now-prisoner, he couldn’t be happier. With the window too small and too high to climb out, Thomas tried to use the bars as a way to etch the walls out to escape. Unfortunately for him, the prison bars weren’t as sharp as he thought they were, nor were they strong enough. How nobody else has ever broken them off still amazes Thomas.

 

His thought process gets interrupted by the sudden sound of the main door open outside, followed by footsteps and yelling. Tasting blood, Thomas winces as he stops biting on his lips so hard. Alarmed but curious, he turns away from the window, frame tense and eyebrows raised. Despite the loud noise a few seconds ago, the yelling stops, confusing Thomas.  The footsteps get louder by each second, before stopping outside his room. Before he can question it, the clicking emits from the other side, before the door swings open to three ugly mugs of some prison guards, one whose mouth is clamp shot by one of the other, _for some ever reason_ , Thomas thought. Or at least, Thomas thought they were all prison guards, before the silenced one is harshly thrown in to the ground. The grounded figure groans in pain as the guards close the door, just as quick as they entered.

 

“Don't waste your yelling while we're gone! We’ll come back once we take care of your crew outside,” one guard grumbles outside, before their footsteps disappear. Thomas stands frozen, waiting if anything would happen, before relaxing, shoulders dropping and eyes lowering onto the figure on the ground.

 

That doesn’t last long, the man jumping from the ground to sprint to the door. He uselessly pounds on it, making a ruckus outside and to Thomas, giving him a minor headache. “ _Hey_! You can’t leave me here!” Thomas cringes, _Great now he’s yelling-_ “-I-I-I have connections! _Yep_! _Higher-uppers_ who _will_ help me out! And not pirates or criminals like that! Nonononono! I mean the-the, uh-the king _himself_! That’s right! I’m the- I’m the king’s _fucking son_ you have _wrongfully_ jailed _right now_!” Thomas looks at the dirtied man, both amused and annoyed by his obvious lies and hollering. “-Right here, right now! And of you don’t-”

 

 _Okay, this is getting really fucking grating._ Thomas clears his throat loudly. “Are you finished yet? I’m sure the prison guards are done believing you, _your highness_.” As if he didn’t know the other man was here (and by this point, Thomas could believe that), the other man yelps, turning away from the door and now facing Thomas. His face looks stunned and his breathing is ragged form being thrown, yelling, and spilling shitty lies out of his mouth.

 

Using the silence, Thomas takes a good look at his ( _ugh_ ) new cellmate. Thomas wouldn’t say he’s conventionally attractive, but definitely striking in looks. With a nose that points downwards, fuller lips than most in England, and sharp cheekbones, he can’t say that the man looks like how people usually look when pillaging near this area. There are some noticeable bags under his dark-colored eyes, which add onto his already unclean look. Black ( _or dark brown?_ ) greasy strands of hair, alongside with a small ponytail, generously stick out of a faded red bandanna,  wrapped around his head. He’s about some centimeters taller than Thomas, already making him dislike the man further, but looks thin and gangly in his clothing. While Thomas can’t place what group of pirates the man comes from, he could tell from the clothes alone he 's part of some crew.

 

Just as Thomas was inspecting the other pirate, he does doing the same. A moment of silence later, the other man’s face lightens as he realizes he’s not alone. “Oh, hi there fellow pirate! Didn’t notice you, as I was busy-” The man freezes, now noticing how he embarrassed himself in front of Thomas. “Oh, uh…you-didn’t-you don’t believe me, d-do you?” A sheepish grin slips its way throughout the man’s face, as Thomas’ eyebrow’s furrow.

 

Ignoring his question (and his cellmate alongside), Thomas turns around to the direction of the window again and starts to think of a plan again.

 

 _The likelihood of any of the other bars being strong enough to chip through the wall wouldn’t be in my favor. Even of the rest are stronger than the ones that broke, the wall would most likely be too strong in the first place._ Thomas curses in his head about his lack of a good plan. _Shit, now what?... Maybe the bed could-_

 

“So what’s your name?” The man asks and interrupts Thomas’ thought process again. Thomas himself sighs in annoyance, _I’m not going to get any fucking work done by this idiot._ He briefly wonders how long he could use the taller man’s bones to chip though the wall before he gets caught for murdering a man and trying to escape.

 

Quick to try to get as much work done, he bluntly replies, “Thomas Thistle.” _Fuck, what was I thinking again-_

“Sounds terrifying.” Thomas, right at this moment, almost turns around to give the biggest punch he could with his sore fists. “So like, were you born as ‘Thomas Thistle’ or did you change your name?”

 

Not wishing to exchange free information to a stranger and already telling that Thomas was going to get any work done, he avoids answering the question and instead jests, “What about you? Do you just let everyone know you as King William the Third’s illegitimate pirate son?”

 

Weirdly, the other pirate laughs at the insult. “ Oh, you believed that didn’t you?” Thomas somehow has patience for the idiot in front of him as he watches the other man laugh. He stays silent, of not silently fuming at the other one laughing at him. “Nononono. That was a lie. My actual name people call me is much more embarrassing.” His face freezes, realizing the mistake of over-sharing.

 

Thomas catches the frozen expression the other man has, so he presses further. “What poor thing did you get stuck with?” He asks, somewhat patronizingly. For some reason, Thomas is in a teasing mood.

 

The other pirate pauses, unsure whether to say it out loud or not. Eventually, his talkative mouth starts to move again. “…Finnigan the Flinchy…”

 

Thomas brain stalls once he hears the embarrassing name. _Oh my fucking god._ “Finnigan…the _Flinchy_???” Before he realizes, an ugly cackle bubbles throughout his throat. Thomas is laughing so hard, he bends over in guffaw. The other pirate-now, as Thomas hilariously found out,- Finnigan grins uncomfortably. He sits down at the floor, as if he was expecting this laughing fest to last for a while.

 

He was right, Thomas using all the time to laugh at _fucking Finnigan the Flinchy. What a stupid fucking pirate name._ After what seems to be forever, the cackles that dance across Thomas’ throat die down into smaller giggles. “Wh-Where d-did you get th- _that_ name???” Still uncomfortable, Finnigan hesitantly responds, “…it’s a long story…”

 

Seeing as there is no way Thomas can think of a plan after that, he sits down in front of Finnigan, leaning against the wall. “I’m not escaping anytime soon.” Seeing as he has no other choice, Finnigan sighs in exasperation.

 

            “Alright…so…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“I was originally just known as Finnigan. Born in a rather…non-convenient location, I was only known by that singular word, no last name with it. Already an outcast to society, I easily joined a pirate crew, and they accepted me easily back.”_

            Finnigan shrieks once he hits the ground. His hand rubs his sore head as he groans from pain. His jerk of a crew mate, Cannon Jack, glooms at him at the edge of the ship, not caring whether Finnigan is in pain or not. Considering the fact he didn’t react to the thrown man's yell, Finnigan starts to wonder, _Maybe Cannon Jack doesn’t like me…_

_“It just so happen too, that they sent me out on a solo act to steal a very valuable…thing from a museum. Something about it being highly expensive that only a respected pirate should get.”_

* * *

 

 

“You’re lying”, Thomas Thistle states plainly, seeing through Finnigan’s lie. For a pirate, a job that requires you to be unlawful, Thomas notices that Finnigan is horrid at telling lies. 

 

“…Yeah, I’m lying,” Finnigan says with a sheepish grin. As he looks back at Thomas’ unamused face, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll continue…”

 

 

* * *

 

In a hushed whisper, Finnigan hissed, “ _Why_ do I have to be the only one to do this again…?!” He hates how much his voice whines, but _dammit_ , being woken up in the middle of the night just to be carried by his arms and legs to be thrown off the spare boat is _not_ going to put anybody in a happy mood.

 

To his annoyance, Cannon Jack picks at dirt in between his nails nonchalantly. In a voice just as casual, he whispers, “Ye shoul’da seen this comin’. That idiotic bet ‘a yers won’t be forgiven so easily. Now, be a good pirate-” Cannon Jack throws a large bag over to Finnigan. “- n’ get this painting the Captn’ wants. A _well-drawn_ reference should be n’ the bag, Fin.”

 

Before Finnigan could ask any more questions, Cannon Jack starts to row away from the empty port. “Don’t get caught, an’ don’t forget the paintin’.”

 

Finnigan begins to scramble to understand what he’s supposed to do. “Wait, what?! Jack, waiitwaitwait!” How in the hell am I supposed to get the painting??!? And how would I get it _back_??!?”

 

Already a couple of feet away, Canon Jack stops rowing to give an exaggerated, annoyed groan. “ It’s _yer_ problem. An’ It’s _my_ beauty rest t’have, so see ye n’ a few hours.” He pauses. “ _With th_ _e paintin’.”_

 

As Finnigan watches Canon Jack row back to the ship, hanging on the barely-noticeable horizon in the night, he grumbles with the other man out of his sight. _What an Irish-lilt jerk…_ He looks at the bag in his hand. Other than the apparent picture inside, the bag itself feels like a large stick or a small pole. Finnigan shoes a hand in, grasping dumbly for whatever  it is. Eventually, he grabs it, yanking it out of the bag. It takes all his willpower for his sleep-deprived brain to not yell in his small achievement at seeing a metal crowbar. _This is probably for defense._  just because he's alone finally, Finnigan swings the crowbar experimentally around like a sword. it also takes all his will-power to not laugh at this. Putting the object away for a second, he grasps inside for the piece of paper.

 

Yanking it out, his excitement runs shallow when he tries to focus on the piece of paper in his hand. As the night is still present, and with no light source near enough, Finnigan struggles to process the drawing. As he stares at the picture, Finnigan grows more annoyed at the situation he’s stuck in. Poorly drawn, smudged pencil markings are wildly sketched in an incomprehensible way that doesn’t look like it should be in any museum. Finnigan flips the paper over, as a sickeningly sweet message that says _good luck!_ Stares back at him, written in the chicken scratch that Cannon Jack could only write in.

 

With more force than necessary, he shoves the drawing into his pant pocket. _Onto the painting._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Finnigan stares up to the museum, fortunately looking like it’s one of the smaller, less famous ones. _Less security to watch out for…_ Weirdly, one of the large windows seem to already be broken, large enough that a person could sneak in. _Or a painting to exit out of…_

 

Unfortunately, the window itself is too high up for Finnigan to climb easily, especially when he had little sleep. Conveniently though (and weirdly) the front door looks slightly open and absent of any guards.

 

To anybody else, they would’ve thought ‘fuck this, I’m out’, but to Finnigan, all he thought was _Fuck yeah, less work to do._ In he went to the door. Taking a look inside, his eyes met with long hallways covered in assorted paintings. Some spaces were empty of art though, instead dedicated to small statues or artistic figures.

 

Stepping inside, he grabs the piece of paper from his pocket. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t look more coherent the second time looking at it. Too tired to grumbled about it though, Finnigan starts looking around the hallways.

 

While he walks around trying to compare the paintings with the picture in Finnigan's hand, he notices two things. One, Finnigan isn’t a sneaky thief admittedly, but even as he casually walks around, he never saw a guard. Even if this was a smaller museum, it still held some valuable pieces of art that would've needed to be protected (admittedly, by people like him). At least _one_ guard should’ve been present. At first, Finnigan felt relieved to be able to walk freely to find the painting, but by about an hour passing and no guard was present, he started feeling uneasy.

 

Second, some of the spacing between the paintings are uneven. Now, Finnigan isn’t the type of person to care about that type of stuff, but it just so happens that the spaces are big enough in between for a painting itself to fit. Not only that, there are name plates of paintings that aren’t present next to them. Paintings should have been there, but they may have been moved by some reason.

 

 Finnigan keeps track of the crowbar in one of his hands just in case.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Finnigan drags his feet long as he compares the piece of paper in his hand to a painting for the umpteenth time. By now, Finnigan could tell that the sun would be rising in an hour or so. In a room with large windows (including the broken one he found an hour ago), his tired eyes stare at the paintings.

 

Standing in front of a rather repetitive picture, Finnigan struggles to place where the grass ends and where the leaves start. _Ugh, I’ll never understand art…_ Looking at the picture longer, Finnigan decides that,   _yeah this is just a bunch of different greens together…_

 

Something clicks in his head. With more energy than the last hour or so of searching, he raises the paper from his pocket up to the painting in front of him. The smudges start looking less like hand wipes and more like large brushes of paint, just like the painting. As he stares at the two, they become so similar that Finnigan is sure that this is the painting his Captain wants. In the silence, he does a quick little jig in satisfaction.

 

A step closer to the painting, Finnigan freezes as he hears quick footsteps. He turn around swiftly, his heart thumps in his chest loudly. Despite his ears, Finnigan doesn’t notice a guard or anyone in his presence, but he grabs the crowbar from the bag. Hesitantly, he turns around to the painting.

 

Despite the emptiness of the hallway, Finnigan’s ears sharpen to the sound of thumping. His heart beats louder than the night, and the footsteps return on the hard floor. He has to act soon.

 

What was supposed to be a quick retrieval of a simple painting was stalled once again when Finnigan turns around and interjects a sword with his crowbar. As he stands stunned, Finnigan’s attacker takes their chance and swings under. He snaps back into focus and interjects that swing. Playing dirty, Finnigan’s attacker harshly kicks him on the shin. Finnigan falls from the pain, soreness blooming from his leg.

 

The sword drops quick to his chest. Finnigan fights through the leg pain and rolls away before the blade hits his shirt. Grabbing his crowbar firmer, he swings it to the person’s head. They duck under, sword aiming for him. Finnigan kicks the sword out of the offender’s hand, playing dirty alongside. With their hand in pain, Finnigan aims his crowbar. The attacker jumps to his abdomen, both scrawled to the ground. On him, the stranger yanks his crowbar back to Finnigan’s shoulder. He yells in pain as Finnigan throws the person off of him.

 

The stranger swings the crowbar back once they get back up. Finnigan scoots out of the way. He stumbles to get up, allowing himself to be taken advantage of. Once he’s on his two feet, the stranger throws themself onto Finnigan. His back hits the wall, Finnigan pinned under the stranger. They grab one of his wrists against the flat surface. His lap erupts with pain when the stranger jabs their knee against it, a howl ringing through the halls. One hand raises with Finnigan’s crowbar to hit. Before it can, his free hand grasps the shaft back. Both fighters push against it, trying to incapacitate the other.

 

Face close to his, Finnigan can’t help but stare back at the person he’s fighting with. Wearing clothing from gentlemen of the court, Finnigan assumed his attacker was male. As he stares back at the face longer though, he notices, even though there is no makeup or  long hair to say so, that his attacker’s face has more androgynous, if not feminine, features than masculine. As he thinks of so, the body pressed against him (rather uncomfortably too) feels smaller and more curved than his. In fact, with what clothes he was able to see in the fight, they didn’t look that form fitted, as if those clothes weren’t made specifically for the wearer.

 

Distracted for too long, the edge comes close to split up his shoulder. Trying to distract his attacker Finnigan asks incredulously, “Wait, are you a woman?” while pushing the crowbar back onto her face, hoping the question would shock her enough. His plan fails, and instead, the stranger seems to push the crowbar harder towards him.

 

In an English voice that suggests she’s from privileged background, the stranger growls, “Who’s asking, _pirate_?” The way she says ‘pirate’ to Finnigan doesn’t make him feel any less negative towards her. Though, pinned under a woman closely with her trying to strangle you isn’t really a position anyone would want to be in the moment ( _especially_ now. Finnigan’s sleep deprived brain can’t handle the high bodily heat and back against the wall in discomfort for too long) .

 

Seeing what he was trying to do, the stranger yanks the crowbar away (causing Finnigan to pull his arm away in pain) to jab it against his abdomen harshly. Finnigan yelps from the contact and struggles to push the edge away from his hip with his already injured arm. The stranger starts speaking again, “ I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me yet. Or maybe it’s those _sea-dwellers_   not knowing anything regarding what’s happening on land…”

 

She pauses. “Or maybe your head is a bit-” The stranger pushes the crowbar deeper in Finnigan’s hip, making him groan a painful whimper. “- _water-clogged_.”

 

As Finnigan struggles to get the crowbar away from him, he strains to ask, “W-What are you t-talking about?”

 

The stranger, once again, yanks the crowbar away from Finnigan’s hip (which he’s sure is now some form of torture she making him go through) to aim it to his jawline. This time, it hangs close as a warning. Wanting her to continue, albeit in fear, he lowers his hand down hesitantly.

 

The edge of the crowbar still hangs near his jawline, as if waiting for a reaction. Other than Finnigan’s hands shaking against the wall and their deep breaths from the fight, nobody moves.

 

The crowbar doesn’t move from Finnigan’s jaw. His attacker whispers close to his ear, “Ever heard of a mysterious thief, travelling around various affluent or influential cities, ports, and towns, _somehow_ stealing, despite the high security of those areas, various expensive or otherwise valuable wines, trinkets…” She pauses. “…or paintings? Ever heard of a shadow stealing the riches off of socialites and trendsetters from their own _highly guarded_ homes?” The stranger continues with a mockingly questioning tone.

 

Finnigan, mind woozy from pain and lack of sleep, stalls to think on what she’s talking about. It takes him a second longer than he wishes it to be, but Finnigan remembers a bane of his captain’s ship and various other pirates from gossip he’s picked up.

 

 _What. The. Fuck. Are you kidding me._ “You _jerk_! You’re the one causing an unnecessary mess to us pirates! For fucks sake, do you know how many pirate hunters were out in sea in the last couple of _months_? It didn’t make any sense, either! With all those things stolen _on land_! You-” Finnigan’s voice stutters as the woman pushes her knee against his leg again, pushing against his already sore lap.

 

As he struggles to hold back a pained moan, Finnigan’s attacker comes close to his ear and hisses, “Darling, if you want me _not_ to shove this through your _face_ …” She pushes the crowbar under his jaw experimentally, making Finnigan whimper in instinct, “…I suggest shutting up and staying here before the authorities come…” Slowly, Finnigan feels the sharp end of the crowbar loosen against his jaw.

 

Against his better judgment, Finnigan pushes, “Who the _hell_ are you? Why are you even stealing anyways?”

 

Despite what he thought, the stranger doesn’t push the weapon back into him. “Let’s just say, nobody would expect a socialite like Lady Aquatina Wisteria to dress in men’s clothing and steal from various other rich people just to ridicule  their selfishness.”

 

Finnigan is more confused than ever, eyebrows furrowing and mouth agape at the woman in front of him. “ _Lady Aquatina_ _?_ _”_ A sly smirk forms across her face when he asks it. Maybe Finnigan would’ve thought it was pretty, if she wasn’t directing towards his overpowered form against a wall. With a weapon in hand no less.

 

Finnigan cannot think of any sane reason why Lady Aquatina Wisteria would steal from the riches across Europe, especially since _she_ was rich herself. In fact, Finnigan asks so. “…But _why_ would you _steal_? Aren’t you a daughter of a respected navy captain? He was literally just chasing my crew in his king-funded ship.” Aquatina tenses at the mention of her father, returning the crowbar back into Finnigan’s jaw. He can’t say he missed that feeling much.

 

“I am _not_ in allegiance with my father, _pirate_ ,” Aquatina growls, “And my reasons for stealing are _none_ of your concern.” Harder than he would have wanted, she throws Finnigan against the ground, pain spreading across his arm and ribs. Getting himself back up, he sees Aquatina take the painting he worked so hard to find. _Oh hell no_ _, that torture-crazy-_

“Heyheyheyhey, back _off_ from _my_ painting!” Finnigan shoots up to get the painting from her hands. “I don’t know about you, _Lady_ _Wisteria_ , but pirates still have a code of conduct, with your weird bias of sea thieves or not.” Honestly, Finnigan found it a bit weird that a high society thief hated pirates, but now wasn’t a time for questioning. It was time for the _painting_. “And my code of conduct says, ‘finders keepers’, so run off back to your…other stolen riches or something. I gotta’ boat to ca-”

 

Despite her smaller frame, Aquatina keeps up a harder fight than what Finnigan expected. _Jeez, I need to work out more._ “ _Never_ call me Lady Wisteria,” Aquatina almost shouts as she stops on Finnigan’s toes.

 

“HOLY SHI-”

 

“My name is Lady Aquatina and Lady Aquatina _only_ , and this is _my painting_.” She yanks quick, almost making Finnigan lose his grip on the frame.

 

Tired, and most definitely annoyed, Finnigan glares at the thief in front of him and says mockingly, “Oh we’re introducing ourselves properly now? Well _I’m_ Finnigan…”

 

 _Yank_. “And _this_ -”

 

Aquatina’s eyes narrow. “Fin-”

           

 _Yank_. “Is _my_ -”

 

Her voice is firmer. “ _Finniga_ -”

 

Quickly out of her hands was his finally. “ _Painting_!”

 

Aquatina sprints out of the hallway fast, and exiting by the broken window (Which, now Finnigan realizes, she probably made). Before he can question why, voices from the other end of the hallway act frantic, most likely alarmed from the several paintings missing (Which must _also_ be from Aquatina, _oh my god_ ).

 

At the sight of the guards, Finnigan dashes to the broken window, too. Desperate to avoid jail time, he jumps out of the building in such a hurry he only realizes at the last second that, _oh fuck this was two stories high oh shit oh_ _FUC-_

He blacks out the moment Finnigan hits the ground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thomas Thistle cannot believe this. He didn’t believe this the second Finnigan started ‘telling the truth’, but Thomas liked a good story, if exaggerated, when he crossed them. _This_ though, Thomas had to question, “… so you’re telling me…you broke into an art museum for god knows what, found out some high class pig named Lady Aquafina or whatever in in some secret thieving hobby at night, tortured you that specific time you happen to be their too, and, what else, met the governor as you would be sent to jail, earning your nickname ‘Finnigan the Flinchy’?” Thomas holds his head at the absurd details that just went out of his mouth.

 

Finnigan is silent for a while before, sheepishly answering, “ I know this sounds absurd, but this is what I was able to make up once I woke up from my black out.” Thomas can’t help but snort at that. His crooked smile at least brought Finnigan a chuckle too at the ridiculousness of his story, even a blush to bloom across his face as Finnigan laughed harder.

 

“God, this is a-” Finnigan constantly interrupts himself from his sporadic laughter and chuckles. “-This is a rather unbelievable story, isn’t it?”

 

Thomas wipes a tear from his eye, mouth still wide from laughter. “Go on.”

 

Finnigan, Thomas notices, has the most stupid looking grin on his face. “So I wake up…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Finnigan wakes up to a pounding headache and sore legs. As he shifts his body, he realizes too, that his arms and rids feel broken like shipwrecked boats. For a few seconds, Finnigan just lays down…wherever he is… and tries to go back to sleep-

 

_Sleeping. Cannon Jack. Crowbars and drawings. Broken windows. Green painting. A suited woman. Knees in legs. Guards. Falling._

Out of instinct, Finnigan groans of the overload of memories flooding through his head like a leak below deck. As hard as it is, Finnigan begrudgingly lifts himself up by his arms, almost immediately regretting the force  of pain across his bones. As he rolls over to sit on his bottom, Finnigan looks around his surroundings.

 

Finnigan is sitting on a bed of grass, surrounded by bushes and vines that cover the art museum. Despite whatever lack of luck he previously had for the past decades of his life, it seems like the lousy guards never saw him, now or last night.

 

Finnigan would have celebrated that, if the headache and body aches of him weren’t as excruciating. He’s got to admit to himself though, Lady Aquatina Wisteria has a hard knee. He’s going to need to ask her eventually on how to torture people correctly the next time he sees her.

 

Too bad he has to return to his ship soon. And to Cannon jack with the paint-

 

            _THE PAINTING_ _!_

  
  
Finnigan has to shoot his two hands quick to his own mouth as to avoid yelling out loud. His anguished scream is fortunately muted. Despite that, his anxiety still spikes to unnervingly high levels. _Oh my god_ _, I forgot the painting. Oh my god, what am I going to do???_

_I’ll just tell him the truth,_ Finnigan tries to comfort himself, _He’ll understand and forgive right there. It’ll be fine…_

* * *

 

 

 

“It wasn’t fine wasn’t it?” Thomas simply states. Finnigan nods dumbly with a shrug.

 

“Yeah, it really wasn't fine. You would think Cannon Jack to be the mad one, but really, the mad one was my Captain, who said to-”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“-Sink off to the _bottom_ of the ocean, get eaten by Kraken _itsel_ _f_ , and _never_ show your _fucking face_ in front of me or your ‘crew’ ever again, you _fucking useless coward_!” yelled Captain Sarah ‘Silver Eyes’ Hollow, glaring straight to Finnigan’s fearful eyes. There weren’t many female pirates to be taken seriously, witches and all of that, but that brought along an even bigger reason to fear Sarah Hollow.  As a sword is close to splitting his head in two, Finnigan understands the infamous reputation that was his captain.

 

Or maybe former, as that sword seems to be getting _really_ close to his neck. _Oh god_ , Finnigan thinks, _I’m getting really uncomfortable with how many women are able to stick a weapon to my throat._

“How fucking _dare you_ , leave the ship unannounced, to steal a stupid fucking painting _nobody_ told you to get, _especially_ me-” Cannon Jack doesn’t meet Finnigan’s eyes, “-and almost get _caught_? What type of pirate are you??!?”

 

To Finnigan’s mercy, Captain Hollow doesn’t swing her sword at him, _yet_. Instead, she shoves a hand mockingly to his head, right when his headache returned. Flinching from her harsh touch, Hollow sneers at him. “Fuckin’ _pathetic_ …”

 

“What do you have to say for yourself lastly, _Finnigan the Flinchy_?” Captain Hollow lifts his head up by her sharp nails, stormy grey eyes staring at him alongside with a sadistic smile. The other crewmates don’t hide their laughter at the pathetic name.

For a second, Finnigan can only see the reflection of the sword in her eyes as Captain Hollow raises it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“-and out like a light, Finnigan the Flinchy dies to the woman who made him who he was on the sea…” Finnigan finishes with a dramatic ending.

 

Thomas Thistle would’ve liked the added flair, if Finnigan wasn’t constantly making jokes and wasting time with his lies.

 

Finnigan, taking his comment jokingly, doesn’t seem to take offense. If anything, he calmly continues, “Okay. But what really happened, was…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Captain Hollow, ‘s much ‘s we all want t’ see the end ‘f _Finnigan the_ _Flinchy_...” the crew laughs once again to Harris’s joke, “…It’s best t’ leave ‘s soon ‘s we can. With th’ break-in happenin’ early ‘n th’ mornin’, officers are goin’ t’ search a’ every ship ported, an’ ‘less you want t’ get caught Ma’am…”

 

Captain Hollow freezes at that statement. Reluctantly, she lets go of Finnigan’s shirt and puts away the sword. “Fine. _Everyone_ -” all of Finnigan’s crewmates listen, “-tie the boat out before noon. If I even see one sailor fucking lying about, you fucking done with me and starting on this town’s jail instead.”

 

As everyone hurries off to what they were supposed to do, Captain Hollow comes close to Finnigan’s face once again. “You got lucky, but next time, keep in line, _Flinchy_..”

 

Finnigan stares at Captain’s figure before she’s out of eyesight. Once she does, a breath he didn’t know he was holding lets go from his mouth. Getting up, Finnigan doesn’t plan on testing the captain’s patience and to prepare the ship.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“-so ever since that day, the nickname stuck, and now everyone refers to me as Finnigan the Flinchy,” he finishes.   
  
  
Thomas can't say he feels that bad about Finnigan. Sure, stuck with a name like that would suck, but he got off with a warning and a death threat. Really any pirate right now wish he had that luck. "Hey, at least your not dead."

 

"I may not be dead, but my chances of being respected is," Finnigan jokes. " Now I'll be forever know as the pirate named after his cowardice."

 

“That’s pretty pathetic. Good luck with that.” Thomas can’t help but bluntly say. Getting up, he returns back from planning a way out. The bars are too weak to break the wall. Thomas is too short to be able to slip out, and he's definitely not strong enough to break the stronger bars. There seems to be not opening or hidden way out, to Thomas' imagination's disdain. There seems to be no way out.  _Fuck that, there has to be_ , grumbles Thomas. He has slipped out of better jails and he can do it with this one.

 

And with a new cellmate… “Hey Flinchy-” Finnigan groans at the nickname, “-got any ideas to escape out of this shithole?”

 

Finnigan pauses. “Well, I did know this guy who, get this, used-”

**Author's Note:**

> (to non-Jackie's, but Jackie can read this too, because she's great like that) Finnigan the Flinchy was first a joke character, when I then started to accidentally develope him more. Whoops!
> 
> Am I going to write more? Probably not. this was a birthday gift to one person, and isn't obligated to anybody else, so. Maybe if I get more inspiration or whatever. But for now, nah.
> 
> My tumblr's at xAestheticallyXSneezingx if you'd like to see more (more of what? I'm not sure either).


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